


Covering up

by m_findlow



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_findlow/pseuds/m_findlow
Summary: Rhys's involvement with Torchwood lands him in a pickle.





	Covering up

Rhys never thought he'd be the one having to cover up the secrets of Torchwood with outrageous and implausible lies. He also wasn't terribly good at it, being far too honest for his own good most of the time.

But when the letter had arrived on the fancy letterhead, his jaw almost dropped to the floor. It was that textured parchment paper, and it had the official Harwoods logo emblazoned at the top. He felt sick. Surely if they were going to give him the sack they'd have sent someone down in person, or at the very least a phone call. God, how was he going to break the news to Gwen?

He sucked in a deep breath and prepared to read the letter's contents. As his eyes drew over each line, he felt his eyebrows rising further and further up his forehead until they must have been getting lost somewhere up in his hairline.

Harwoods manager of the year? Surely not. It must have been a misprint, or perhaps they'd addressed the letter to the wrong person. He checked it again and then rang the phone number listed at the top.

'Harwoods Haulage. Claire speaking.'

'Yeah, uh, hi, it's Rhys Williams, manager for the Cardiff office? Just wanting to speak to someone about a letter I received.'

'One moment, putting your call through now.'

He had no idea who was going to be picking up, probably some human resources manager, so he was doubly surprised when the CEO greeted him, congratulating him on the accolade.

Yes, apparently it was all true. He'd outshone and outperformed every other office branch across England and Wales by a landslide. How had he managed that? The CEO confirmed that it was the invaluable Jones contract that was paying dividends for the Cardiff branch, and that they insisted on celebrating his achievement by holding a gala dinner to present him with the official award, and give him the opportunity to speak and give some advice to other branches on just how a successful business is run.

Oh, and there was the downside. Just how was he going to explain to his colleagues how he'd landed such a large amount of business? He didn't think they'd believe him if he used the excuse that he was servicing the entirety of Wales. Three million people wasn't much in the grand scheme of things.

The Jones contract was of course the pseudonym that had been used to cover that fact that it was Torchwood. Couldn't very well have that name on the books, could he? How was he supposed to answer the myriad of questions that would be coming his way this time next Tuesday night? What is it that you ship for this customer? Oh, you know, this and that, fridges, bits of alien spaceships, nine thousand chickens, even a dragon once. Yes, there really are dragons in Wales.

Then there was going to be talk of the increasing fleet. He'd been the laughing stock of the company when he'd requisitioned not one, but two B double large hauler trucks from head office. Their reply had come back very quickly, and had been carbon copied to all the other managers just to make it clear to them all that any significant requisition of that kind would require detailed cash flow projections to support the claim. Those vehicles were large, highly specialised, and tended to have lower production rates than smaller, more nimble and economical sized vans. They must have thought he'd lost his marbles. Still, with a bit of help, he'd dummied up the projections and submitted them, expecting to still be knocked back. It was to the chagrin of the other managers when Rhys's request was accepted, and even more so when his profits showed that in actual fact, they now required a third truck.

How the hell did he do it? He couldn't very well say that he was carting around dinosaurs and space whales on a regular basis, and that it was the sole reason he'd requested the vehicles in the first place. He didn't have a single other contract that required them. For all the use they got, it probably would have been cheaper for Torchwood to buy their own truck, but he supposed the associated driver was required.

It was true that Torchwood accounted for at least a quarter of all his business these days. The only thing standing between him and total annihilation by head office was the privacy policy attached to each contract. They knew the name, some contact details, and the revenue generated, but cargo manifests were branch only property, and all of Torchwood's manifests were mysteriously paperless. It was scary when he knew Ianto's phone number by heart. It called him often enough.

That was why when it came to needing some serious help in developing a cover story to get through the award presentation, that was the first number he called.

There was no friendly greeting on the other end of the phone. They didn't really do small talk. Ianto liked to keep thing all business, and that was okay with Rhys. He didn't seem the sort to want to chat about the rugby, anyway.

'Hello, Rhys. I thought all our accounts were paid and up to date. We did sort out that last dinosaur invoice, didn't we?'

'Oh,' Rhys sputtered, still distracted by how he was going to phrase his next question. 'Yes. I mean, they are. Paid, that is. Actually, I kind of need a favour.'

There was a slight pause, tiny, but still there. 'Yes?' came the slow reply. They were now moving outside of familiar territory. Usually their conversations were initiated by Ianto, and were brief, along the lines of, "we need a van", "what size and when?", though usually "ASAP," and "will do".

'Er, I need some help with a cover story.'


End file.
